Villager’s Weblog

Ours is a “model village”.  Most of the tenants work for the Chatsworth estate or are retired long-time employees.  This makes a feeling of “family” with shared experiences over the years.  With a few exceptions, the houses were built around 1839 from the illustrations of a pattern book entitled The Encyclopaedia of Cottage, Farm and Villa Architecture by John Claudius Loudon.   A claim to fame is that every chimney is different.
At this time of year a walk up the road to see the gardens is a huge pleasure, because most are laid out at the front of the houses.  Each one reflects the taste of the tenant and how much time he or she can (or wishes to) spend in the garden.  All sorts of styles are here – one is full of flowering shrubs and climbing roses, the next has roses in box-edged beds, some manage the difficult trick of having something in flower for most months of the year, and some prefer a lawn and evergreen trees. The retired people have more time to garden and there are several outstanding plots.

The village green is surrounded by crab apple trees which have the advantage of performing twice a year with blossom and later on fruit for all who wish to take it.  The weeping beech we planted many years ago on the site of the demolished school is a feature now, with its branches making green walls and a seat for picnickers.

The teas in the shop provided by Julia are famous and her stall of plants for sale is well worth a visit.
Visitors cannot miss St Peter’s church.  It dominates the village by its size, but is often filled.  Three ewes and their lambs from the Chatsworth flock of piebald and horned Jacob sheep trim the grass round the gravestones better than any machine could do.

Strangers are full of questions and last week someone said to me, “Are you local?” wanting to know all manner of things.

I feel very lucky to live in a village of such varied historical and present day interest.

Deborah Dowager Duchess of Devonshire

20 May 2008

We have been looking out for them for some time, and when a white spot was noticed in our front porch a couple of days ago, there was great speculation as to whether it was them or not! Then, yesterday afternoon, we were sure. The wonderful chirruping babble of swallows could be heard, and we dashed into the hall to peep through the window glass above the front door to see them perched on the hanging basket brackets, one on each, chattering away to each other. It’s the most amazing thing to think that they have returned, and have travelled, as my son said when he was only three, “all the way from Africa, and without a map!” Last year they built their nest for the first time in our porch, and we left it there for them, to see if they would return. So here they are, and we are hoping they will raise another family to delight us over the summer months. Many swallows fly around the village and make their home here, and on a summer’s evening they are a fantastic sight, swooping and wheeling as they pick up insects on the wing. Then, as the days shorten, they gather on the telegraph wires in the field and we know that autumn can’t be far away.

Christine Robinson